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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27055552">Through My Viewfinder</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Contesa_lui_Alucard/pseuds/Contesa_lui_Alucard'>Contesa_lui_Alucard</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Tracks (2013)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Masturbation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Voyeurism</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 05:09:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,769</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27055552</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Contesa_lui_Alucard/pseuds/Contesa_lui_Alucard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick is a hipster photographer with a studio based out of a loft in Williamsburg. You’re his next client, preparing for your first ever boudoir shoot. You’re nervous, of course. You’ve never done anything like this before. But the photographer is such a sweetheart, you immediately feel at ease around him. Besides, what could possibly go wrong?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Rick Smolan/You, rick smolan/reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Through My Viewfinder</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Welcome! I am just a well-spring of ideas these days. This will not be a long story, probably 3 chapters in total, but it'll be a fun ride.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You grasp your phone tightly in your sweating palms as, according to the little dot on your phone’s GPS, you approach the studio. Although it doesn’t look like much of a studio from here, more like just another refurbished warehouse loft in Williamsburg, but according to your phone you’re in the right place. You take a steadying breath, giving the map on your phone one last double-check before pocketing it, and step up to the front door. </p><p>You make your way into the lobby, checking the bell labels until you find who you’re looking for, “R. Smolan,” you say to yourself as you prepare to push the button, hesitating a beat before determinedly pressing it in. You let out the breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding as you wait for a response, nearly jumping out of your skin when a deep male baritone carries over the crackling speaker, “Who is it?” the voice asks. </p><p>You scramble to answer, clutching your chest, “Y-your 10 o’clock!”</p><p>A beat passes before the buzzer signifying the door has been unlocked begins to sound, and you rush to pull the handle, scurrying inside. According to the list of bells your photographer occupied the top floor of this six story building, so you peered around for any sign of an elevator or even a staircase. Eventually you spotted one, a big hulking freight elevator that had you terrified to so much as touch it let alone get inside of it. You continued your search, instead opting to take the stairs. Six floors wasn’t so bad, and it had to be safer than getting into that monstrosity. Stupid hipster buildings with their stupid old elevators…</p><p>You realize that perhaps you were more out of shape than you had thought, because six flights of stairs later you are a bit winded, taking a moment to collect your bearings as you take stock of where you are. You easily spot the door to what must be your photographer’s studio, noting the apartment number, and proceed cautiously. This is it, you think, no backing out now. Your fist just barely connects with the door before it’s being pulled open forcefully, revealing a broad chest. Your eyes scan up, up, up the chest to find its owner, which just so happens to be a grinning face. </p><p>“Hi!” the grinning face greets, eyes seeming to dart over every inch of you, “Come on in,” he entreats, stepping back to allow you space to pass. You nod dumbly, completely entranced by the unexpected vision before you. </p><p>He’s tall, much taller than you. And broad, boxy yet slim, with a trim waist. He has shaggy black hair that just scrapes his collar, and a well-trimmed moustache and beard. You catch a hint of honey-gold eyes behind large wireframe glasses, and a smattering of moles across his face. He’s wearing a maroon t-shirt that strains to contain what can only be described as voluptuous pectorals, tucked into tight fitting boot-cut blue jeans that accentuate his thick thighs, all cinched together with a brown leather belt. There’s something about him that just screams the 70’s, but isn’t that retro look all the craze these days?</p><p>“I’m Rick,” he announces, extending a very large hand out to you.</p><p>“(Y/N),” you manage to respond, helpless to watch the way his grip engulfs your hand as you offer it to him.</p><p>“I’m really excited to work with you,” he says, looking as if he’s trying to bite back some of the grin, “you mentioned on your application that you’ve never done a shoot like this before, right? I love working with virgins.” He stops for a beat, sucking his lips in and scrunching his eyes, “you know, virgins as in people who are new to these sorts of things, not like… not that I have anything against virgins, you know, I just… You know what? Nevermind. Anyway,” he proceeds, beginning to walk further into the space now, “this is going to be great. We have a perfect day for it too,” he says, gesturing outward. You follow the motion, realizing now that the studio occupies the corner apartment, because two of the four walls are nothing but floor to ceiling windows. The view is incredible too, the beautiful Manhattan skyline is on full display. Absently you approach the windows, wanting a better look at the sight they have to offer, entranced by what you find, “It’s beautiful,” you breathe, eyes glued to the glistening Hudson, to the majestic Williamsburg Bridge, to the city that never sleeps.</p><p>“It is,” Rick quietly remarks from behind your shoulder. You were so swept up in the view that you had almost forgotten he was even there, quickly turning to face him. But he isn’t looking out the windows. No, his honey eyes are glued to you, his smile humble. You wonder for a moment if you’re talking about the same thing. </p><p>His gaze, while soft, is quite intense, and you feel your face heat up at the attention, biting your lip as you break away, turning instead to take in the rest of the studio. </p><p>The space is incredibly large, with ceilings at least 20 feet in height. You notice that it has been set up as a duplex, spotting a spiral staircase leading up to what appears to be a bedroom. Underneath this overhang is a kitchen, leading off to a room which you can only assume is a bathroom. The appliances are all modern, but the décor is anything but. The entire place has an artists’ touch, red brick walls decorated with tapestries and artwork, shelves filled with statues and trinkets, an antique wood-frame couch draped in what appear to be handmade, brilliantly colored blankets. Your eyes can’t pick a single thing to land on, immediately being drawn to something new.</p><p>“Dooo you like it?” Rick asks tentatively, observing you closely, “I travel a lot, it’s the nature of my job, so I pick up a lot of souvenirs, receive a lot of gifts. People are very generous; they may not have money to give so they’ll give other things instead. Things they made themselves. I admire that, you know?” </p><p>You nod along, finally tearing your eyes away to meet his once more, “I love it,” you admit honestly, “your studio is gorgeous. From the view, to the way you’ve decorated it. What’s not to love?”</p><p>Rick blushes at your compliment, “Thank you,” he nods, “I’m glad you like it, I want you to feel comfortable, you know? Subjects always photograph better when they’re comfortable. Unless the point of the photo is to show the subject’s uncomfortability, of course. But we don’t want that for a boudoir shoot,” he laughs, “then it’ll just look like some pervert peeped in on you, rather than the sexually empowering shoot it’s supposed to be.”</p><p>You smile at him, he’s quite the talker, isn’t he? You find yourself enjoying it though, enjoying him. He seems incredibly earnest, and it’s refreshing. Not too many people your age, from this neighborhood, have that kind of earnestness about them, “You’re right,” you reply, “I don’t think we’ll have anything to worry about. You’ve done a great job so far of making me very comfortable. Thank you, Rick.”</p><p>His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard, eyes going wide. But just as quickly as it happens, it’s replaced with his gigantic grin once more, endearingly crooked teeth on full display, “Great! That’s great, really, I’m glad.” He seems to think for a moment, eyebrows raising as realization dawns, “Before we get started, do you want to see some of my previous work? You know, to make sure you like what you’re getting.”</p><p>“Sure,” you nod. You can’t say you aren’t curious, it’s obvious by his earlier statement that he does much more than just boudoir shoots, unless there are a lot more of those happening in the Sahara than you’d thought. </p><p>Rick heads over to a small bookshelf next to the couch, fishing out what appears to be an album, and then beckons you over, “Come here (Y/N), make yourself comfortable!”</p><p>You do, dropping the bag you’d brought along and traipsing over to curl up on his incredibly comfortable couch, leaving him plenty of room to join you. But he doesn’t, Rick hands you the album and then stands back, crossing his arms over his chest.</p><p>You look at him curiously, but he only gives a tight lipped smile, flicking his head towards the album, “Go ahead, take a look!”</p><p>You turn your attention to the black leather album, opening it up in your lap. The first photo is of a young woman with short blonde hair, leading a pack of camels across a beach. The photo is beautiful, vibrantly colored, and innately question-provoking. You take a moment to study it, before turning the page to the next photo. This one appears to be of some people of Aboriginal descent, smiling happily for the camera. The following is of a protest, three soldiers advancing on a woman in a flowing dress. Each photo is more beautiful than the last, leaving you to wonder why someone so talented had even agreed to do this boudoir shoot in the first place.</p><p>“Rick,” you pull your eyes from the pages, only to find him already staring at you intently. It catches you off guard, but you quickly regather your wits, “Rick, these are incredible. <i>You</i> are incredible. I had no idea you were so talented.”</p><p>Rick seems to preen under your praise, puffing up his chest a bit as his boyish grin returns, “Really? You like them?”</p><p>“Of course I like them,” you shake your head at him incredulously, “how couldn’t I? But I have so many questions, I want to know more about these, you have to tell me about them.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah I can tell you about them, there’s a lot to tell,” he chuckles, extending a hand in asking for the album. You give it to him, and he turns to replace it on the bookshelf, “But I’d like to get our shoot started, if that’s alright. We have perfect sunlight and I don’t want to lose it.”</p><p>“Oh! Oh, right,” you giggle, embarrassed at having almost forgotten why you were even here in the first place. There is just something about Rick that makes you feel so comfortable, so at ease, it’s infectious.</p><p>“I’ll go get changed,” you state, getting up to grab the bag full of lingerie.</p><p>“You can go right behind there,” he says, gesturing towards a wood and paper paneled folding wall propped up in the corner, “Don’t worry, I can’t see anything, the paper’s opaque.” But he turns his back all the same, an unspoken gesture of trust. You make your way behind the wall and dump out the bag onto the floor, spreading out the contents, putting matching sets back together. You opt for the least revealing set first, a black lace teddy with matching lace trimmed thigh high stockings. Over top you slide on a lace robe that falls mid-thigh, belting it even though it’s practically see-through, and you finish the look by slipping mary jane style black patent leather heels onto your feet. You take one last steadying breath, before stepping out from behind the wall. </p><p>True to his word, not only is Rick not looking, he’s off on the other side of the apartment checking his equipment. He’s so engrossed in his preparations that he doesn’t even notice you having emerged at first, it isn’t until you’re practically right beside him that he finally looks up, and when he does…</p><p>Rick’s hazel eyes go wide behind his wire frame glasses, he quickly pushes them up the bridge of his nose in what looks to be a nervous habit before standing to his full height, “Wow!” he exclaims appreciatively, “You look absolutely gorgeous.” He appraises the ensemble as you give him a little grin and a twirl. When you spin back around to face him you hope your expression doesn’t betray your barely concealed embarrassment, “Thank you, Rick. That’s very kind of you to say.”</p><p>“I’m just…” Rick begins, but gets lost in your eyes for a moment before finding his words once more, “I’m just speaking the truth,” he finishes with a shrug and a shy grin.</p><p>You shake your head and roll your eyes playfully, stepping back with your arms crossed to give him room to finish his preparations. “Can you just stand over there in the ‘x’ for me?” Rick asks, gesturing towards what you see is a masking tape ‘x’ on the floor just in front of where the two walls of windows meet. You nod and make your way over to your mark, doing as he asked. He fiddles with his camera a bit more, checks the level of a nearby tripod, pulls out some kind of light measuring tool, and then finally, seemingly satisfied, comes to join you. “I just want to take a few shots to test the lighting first, so just—just relax, these don’t count,” he tells you as he raises his camera to his face, quickly snapping off a few shots. You stand there doing your best approximation of what he asked, arms still crossed somewhat protectively across your chest, expression neutral. He stops, checks the viewfinder on his camera, and then picks it back up to his face, “Can you let your arms hang at your sides? I want to make sure the light is properly reflecting off of the lace,” he asks, and you do as you’re told, reluctantly letting your arms fall to your sides. You can’t help but a feel a little exposed, even if all of your lady bits are hidden by cleverly placed patches of lace, even if you’re wrapped up in a robe. But then Rick drops the camera from his face and smiles at you, “You look amazing, these pictures are going to be great,” and suddenly you don’t feel so exposed anymore. You let your stance relax a little, and it’s as if Rick can feel it happening, he quickly picks his camera back up and shoots a few more, pulling it away again with an assured nod, “Great, I think we’re ready to begin.”</p><p>You nod in affirmation, looking down to quickly untie the belt of the robe, opening it up and sliding it off of your shoulders. It just hits your elbows when Rick shouts, “Freeze!” and you do exactly as you’re told, looking up at him in confusion. “That’s perfect,” he exclaims, quickly picking up his camera again, “prop out your right leg, like this,” he demonstrates himself, popping out his knee and pointing his toe, “and look down.” You do exactly as he asked, knowing you’ve hit your mark when he exclaims, “Perfect, just like that!” before the only sound filling the air is that of his camera’s shutter. “Look up this time,” he instructs, “Here,” he raises a finger to direct your line of sight. You oblige, and he utters a “great, perfect,” before the shudder is going crazy once more.</p><p>The camera is once again pulled away from his face as this time he holds out a hand to you, “You can take the robe off now,” he smiles, and so you dutifully slide it off and place it into his large grip. He walks over to the folding wall, quickly tossing it up to drape over top of it, before coming back to stand before you. He takes a moment to admire you, eyes lighting down your frame, losing himself in his task, only shaken from the trance when you questioningly call his name, “Rick?” his eyes quickly shoot up to meet yours, expression bewildered, “How should I stand next?” Rick seems to shake himself off, pulling a smile and miming the stance he’d like you to take, “Do like this, hand on your hip, other hand like this, yes! There you go, perfect.”</p><p>And so things proceed.</p><p>Rick must take hundreds of photos before he stops to ask you to change outfits, “As we start to lose light, let’s work from your darker lingerie to your lighter lingerie, it’ll pose a good contrast.” You nod in acknowledgement as you disappear behind the folding screen, pulling out a purple bustier, garter belt and panties. </p><p>When you emerge from behind the folding wall this time, Rick has dragged the couch over to your mark. He turns to look at you with a smile, giving you a once-over that almost makes his grin falter, “I thought we could use a change of scenery,” he shrugs, “and there’s only so many ways I can tell you to stand suggestively.”</p><p>You giggle, “Whatever you say, Mister Photographer,” coming in stand before the couch. Rick chuckles, giving you a grin before beginning his directions. Sit like this, back arched, toes pointed, until you’re poised like his living doll. It’s easy, doing this. Rick tells you what to do, how to look, what expression to wear, and you follow his directions to the letter. It’s comfortable, it’s easy, there’s nothing for you to do or think about or worry over, just follow Rick’s directions. Before you know it, Rick is already asking for your third outfit, the sun now noticeably lower in the sky, “We still have plenty of light,” he says, “but we won’t for much longer.”</p><p>This third outfit is certainly the most risqué of the bunch, a completely transparent sunshine-yellow babydoll with matching lace thong. This outfit doesn’t get thigh highs, only heels, and when you step out from behind the folding wall it’s obvious how well this ensemble grabs Rick’s attention. He swallows thickly, giving you a once over before quickly averting his eyes, “That one’s great,” he says to the wall, not meeting your gaze, “very bright and cheery.”</p><p>You thank him with a giggle, feeling warmth begin to pool in your gut at the visceral way he’s reacting to you. Rick’s very handsome, that’s undeniable, so to see him falter all thanks to <i>you</i>? There’s no denying how powerful and desirable that makes you feel. You walk past him to take your place by the couch, fully aware that your ass is completely bared to him, and when you turn back around to face him you witness the fruit of your efforts.</p><p>Rick is red from the bit of chest visible above his collar to the tips of his ears, honey eyes wide and mouth slightly ajar. He quickly drops down to one knee, tugging at the front of his pants before picking up his camera, “M-maybe try kneeling on the floor, with your elbows on the couch.”</p><p>You want to grin wickedly, so satisfied with the reaction you’ve provoked. Rick was right, this <i>is</i> empowering. But instead of gloating you do as you’re told, kneeling down on the floor with your back to Rick, planting your elbows on the couch cushion. “Perfect,” he mumbles, “Now look over your shoulder at me,” you do, and suddenly <i>you’re</i> the one who’s flustered. Rick’s gaze is entirely focused on your ass, of which he has an unobstructed view. The lace thong barely covers anything, your pussy lips all but a sneeze away from being on full display, and it seems Rick has noticed this as well. You can’t help but arch your back a little bit more, presenting yourself to him, and the wetness that begins to form is unavoidable once you see how hungry Rick’s expression turns at the gesture. </p><p>Slowly he raises his camera, and you gulp down the arousal that begins to heat you up from the inside, doing your damnest to put on the neutral pout he taught you how to make. He fiddles with the lens a bit before the shutter begins going off again, only stopping to shift his stance. It’s then that you notice the bulge he is sporting, and your pussy begins to soak through the lace of your thong in response. He’s… he’s huge! The outline of his cock is obvious in his jeans, and even from here you can tell it’s longer than your hand. You press your thighs together involuntarily at the discovery, prompting Rick to pause in his picture taking. He glances from your ass, undoubtedly able to see the wet spot forming on the lace, no? to you your eyes, “Just relax,” he intones, “the more relaxed you look, the better.” And part of you wonders if he means that for the sake of the pictures or for the sake of him.</p><p>His request is a difficult one to acquiesce to in this moment though, try as you might. You’re embarrassed at the way you are acting, embarrassed at how wet you’ve become. Rick is a professional, you are his client, it’s incredibly irresponsible of you to be behaving like this. But then your eyes catch that bulge again, so solid and large, and you can’t help but question if you are the only one having unprofessional thoughts. You’ve never done a boudoir shoot before, is this normal? His arousal can’t be helped, you tell yourself. After all, here you are in practically nothing, pussy soaked and just a thin piece of lace away from being on full display for him. But what if…</p><p>No, no, he couldn’t possibly be interested. It’s all just a reaction to the situation, that’s all. Rick is a professional, and you are doing a piss-poor job of being a respectful client.</p><p>But then Rick licks those big, dark pink lips of his, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard, and you can’t deny that the gesture is a little bit… well…</p><p>Rick looks as if he is <i>starving</i>, and you are the first meal he has seen in <i>days</i>.</p><p>You open your mouth to say something, to ask him if he’s alright, to apologize, you aren’t even really sure what it is you’re going to say, but before you can say it Rick speaks up, “Let’s take five. We’ve been at this for a while, it’s time for a break.” You shut your mouth and nod, partly thankful for the interruption, you had no idea what you were going to say anyway, he likely just saved you from a very awkward conversation.</p><p>Before you are even up off of the floor Rick is gone, disappearing under the overhang where the kitchen resides. You make your way over to the folding wall, thinking it wise to grab your robe and slip it on. It isn’t much, but it will preserve whatever ounce of modesty you have left after this ordeal, so it’ll do. When you turn back around Rick is gone, but you don’t think much of it. The staircase that leads up to the bedroom is over there, maybe he ran up to grab something. You grab a tube of lipstick and a powder compact from your bag, deciding to freshen up a bit in the bathroom. It’ll also give you a good opportunity to gather your bearings, calm yourself down enough to finish this shoot without dripping all over yourself.</p><p>The door to the bathroom is unlocked, and you push it open without much thought, preoccupied with everything else that’s on your mind. But your reverie is quickly ended by the unexpected sight that greets you when you go to step inside.</p><p>Rick stands frozen, hunched over the bathroom sink. One hand is gripping the porcelain of the basin, while the other…</p><p>The other is wrapped firmly around his throbbing red cock.</p><p>“SHIT!” he exclaims, quickly turning his back to you as thick arms shuffle to presumably stuff his dick back into his pants, “I’m—fuck, (Y/N) I’m so sorry, I can’t believe— shit, I thought I locked the door.”</p><p>It takes your brain a moment to compute what you have just witnessed, for the pieces to come together into a picture that makes sense. Rick just had his dick in his hand, while standing over the sink. He was holding his dick, while it was completely engorged. Was he… masturbating? Rick was masturbating. Why was Rick masturbating?</p><p>When he finally turns around to face you, he keeps his head hung low, unable to meet your eyes, “I’m so sorry (Y/N), that was—fuck, that was so unprofessional. I swear I don’t normally— you’re just very—I saw the way your—FUCK, I’m sorry, I’ll refund your money, I have a friend who can do this set for you instead, I’ll pay him myself, it’s the least I can do.” As Rick continues to babble the entire image comes into focus, Rick was masturbating because of you. You turned him on in your skimpy yellow lingerie so much that he had to take five to rub one out in his bathroom. The truth sinks into your skull like a stone tossed into the ocean, and with it a powerful need to sooth his horrified state.</p><p>“It’s okay,” you breathe out, immediately stopping him in his tracks, honey eyes brimming with concern come up to meet yours, “really, it’s okay.” You reiterate, taking a tentative step towards him. Rick doesn’t move, just watches you with worried eyes and pouting lips, clearly unsure of your intention.</p><p>You offer him a small smile, something reassuring and kind, “I get it,” you take another small step towards him, gazing up into his eyes, “I think you’re very handsome, Rick, and—and as a result my body reacted, just like yours did.” He looks like he wants to touch you, his hands rising and falling from his sides, fists clenching and unclenching, but he holds himself back, so you press on, “I want to apologize for my body’s reaction, I’m sorry for the trouble it has caused, it was unprofessional of me. You’ve been great, Rick, really, just absolutely great, and the last thing I want to do is make you uncomfortable.” You lay a gentle hand on his corded forearm, giving it a light squeeze, “But, can I ask you something?”</p><p>Rick is already nodding before the sentence has even left your mouth, whispering a breathy, “Yes,” in response. He’s watching you intently, eyes pleading.</p><p>“Did that,” you say while gesturing to his dick, “only happen to you in response to what my body did, or,” you take a deep breath, working up every ounce of courage you have, “or did it happen because you—because you find me attractive?”</p><p>Rick searches your face for an answer, swallowing thickly before croaking out his reply, “I think you’re gorgeous, (Y/N). The most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.”</p><p>Your heart leaps in your chest, overjoyed at his confession. You smile at him reassuringly, “Thank you, Rick. Can I ask you another question now?”</p><p>Rick smiles back at you tentatively, nodding his head. Clearly still unsure as to your intention, but hopeful.</p><p>“Would you—maybe-- want to go out tonight? With me?” you ask, looking up at him through your lashes. Rick’s eyes go wide, his grin quickly spreading to match, “Yeah!” he responds enthusiastically, “Yeah, I’d love that, I’d love to go out with you tonight, that would be great.” </p><p>You smile brightly back at him, excited that he agreed, giving his arm another reassuring squeeze before stepping back from him, “Why don’t I go get changed then? I’d like to stop home and put on something nice.”</p><p>He’s nodding along merrily, eyes bright with excitement, “Yeah absolutely, I understand. We can finish the shoot next weekend, it’s not a big deal. We’re supposed to have another beautiful day anyway, perfect shooting weather.”</p><p>Finish the shoot? But you had paid for three outfit changes, and that’s what you had gotten, more or less, “Finish? But we did my three outfits.” </p><p>Rick is undeterred though, seemingly unconcerned with that trivial detail, “I have a few more ideas I’d like to try with you, so next weekend should be perfect. Don’t worry about what we said on the contract, that’s just standard stuff, legal jargon, this is different.” He dismisses with a smile, “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”</p><p>I guess it’s a good thing you didn’t have any plans next weekend, now that Rick has taken the opportunity to keep you busy. Your heart flutters at the turn of events, one minute you’re a photographer’s subject, the next minute you’re going on a date and making plans to spend next weekend together.</p><p>Something tells you being with Rick is going to be <i>quite</i> the ride.</p>
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